


Turbulence

by Zombiiewrites



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 02:43:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1412017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zombiiewrites/pseuds/Zombiiewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Destiel!AU; Cas helps Dean hate flying a little less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turbulence

Castiel sighs, one hand bracing his chin as he slumps against the armrest, and the other interlaced with Dean’s unimaginably sweaty one. 

They are on an airplane on their way to visit Sam and Jess. Normally, they would have drove but considering the circumstances, there simply was no other option.

Sam is about to become a father.

Dean’s love for his brother trumps his fear of flying which comes as no surprise to Castiel. Still, becoming an uncle isn’t enough to calm the eldest Winchester entirely. He only reached for the barf bag once during take-off which, according to Dean, is progress. 

As someone who flies nearly every other weekend for business, this is nothing new to Cas. Dean’s behavior is a cross between distressing and adorable—Cas hasn’t decided which yet. Regardless, it makes him anxious seeing his usually composed and confident lover in such an altered state. 

Dean doesn’t acknowledge the stewardess when she stops at their row; he is too engrossed by the music blasting into his ears and his eyes are shut painfully tight. Castiel does, though. He offers her a polite smile and orders a soda for himself and a whiskey on the rocks for his basket case of a boyfriend sitting beside him. 

There is a bout of turbulence in between the time the flight attendant takes their orders and returns. Dean is gripping Castiel’s hand so tight that Cas only offers the nervous man two of his fingers now, fearing Dean might actually break his hand if he squeezes any harder. As tempted as Castiel is to make some kind of labor related joke, he refrains when he looks over at the other man’s petrified face.

The plastic cup trembles as he raises it to his chapped lips, ice rattling subtly until he tilts the drink back and downs it in a single shot. Dean exhales as he sets the cup down and runs the same chilled hand over his face. It feels good against his perspiring forehead but offers minimal relief in the long run.

"Thanks," Dean murmurs huskily, referring to the drink. He’s already moving to put his earbuds back into his ears but stops when he feels Castiel’s hand on his wrist. Quirking an eyebrow, Dean looks up in time to catch the look Cas is giving him. He’s seen that look before—the parted, pink lips; the hooded, blue eyes; and those eyebrows peaked with the perfect balance of interest and intent. Dean knows what’s going to happen long before Castiel leans over to whisper in his ear and long before the hand he’s been abusing is palming him through his already tight jeans. 

"Be quiet," Cas breathes into his ear, just before releasing the hold on Dean’s wrist. "Can you do that for me, Dean?" The way his name falls from Castiel’s lips is like hot velvet—deep and hoarse yet fluid and practiced. The warmth of his breath on his ear only heightens the sensation. It is enough to make Dean hum and lift his hips, desperate to feel more of that delicious friction between his legs. 

"Y-Yeah," Dean sighs, eyelashes fluttering and eyelids going heavy as he tries to compose his breathing. 

Satisfied with his partner’s peaceful audacity, Castiel proceeds. His fingers move deftly over the rough denim and quickly undo the button and zipper on the other man’s bottoms before tracing over his swelling member through the thin fabric of his boxer briefs. He appreciates the way his form-fitting underwear outlines the girth of his lover’s hard length and licks his lips at the sight before lifting his gaze to stare at Dean’s face once again. 

The younger man is already flushing heavily, cheeks tinted pink and eyes clouded with lust. It’s exactly where Cas wants him—distracted and focused on anything but their current elevation and the chances of survival if they were to crash. His body is still tense, most likely from hearing the occasional shift of machinery within the aircraft, so Castiel pulls his hand away to readjust his headphones and places one in Dean’s ear but leaves the other dangling down his front. He flashes Dean a grin and leans in to kiss the corner of his lips while sliding his hand down the center of his chest and over abdomen. 

Once he’s reached his groin, Castiel makes quick work of pulling him from the confines of his underwear. Dean’s cock twitches against the cool air of the cabin and his breath catches in his throat at the unique sensitivity. Cas has to bite his lip just to keep from leaning in and greedily swiping his tongue over the precome soaked head of his boyfriend’s cock. He always teases Dean for being a leaker but God, does he want to taste him at that very moment. 

Swallowing heavily, Castiel instead reaches down to thumb at the slit at the head of his cock, smearing the sticky mess there and rubbing delicate circles against the tip. The attention leaves Dean gulping and spreading his legs as wide as the constricting denim will allow him but he has yet to make a sound. He tenses once when Castiel wraps his long fingers around his shaft, giving him two firm and deep strokes before setting a steady rhythm. 

"So hot in my hand," Cas whispers into his lover’s ear, chin planted against his shoulder and lips just centimeters from his stubbly cheek. Castiel smiles when Dean turns his face away, obviously overwhelmed, and strokes him a little faster to regain his attention. When he finally does, Dean is sucking his lips in and sweating more than before. He eventually releases a huffed exhale and stares down at their connection. He has to bite down on the back of his own hand just to keep from moaning out as Castiel’s hand jerks him slow and relentlessly. 

Castiel tightens and loosens his grip sporadically, using his fingertips to apply just the right amount of pressure to just the right places to make Dean squirm and buck up into his hand helplessly. He uses his forearm to hold down one of the other man’s strong thighs, wanting to keep him still as he works his cock. The precome makes him slick and shiny in Cas’ hand, allowing the brunette to slow and speed up at his leisure.

With Dean’s hand still pressed against his own mouth, Castiel seizes the opportunity and teases him further. It begins as him deepening his strokes while attacking his neck with bruising, open-mouthed kisses that have Dean’s neck straining backwards and continues with Castiel trailing his lips from his throat to his ear to whisper all the things he knows Dean wants to hear. 

He tells him how good he is, how fucking gorgeous he looks, how hard he’s going to fuck him once they reach their hotel room. And Dean is just losing it. With the guitar solo from Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Free Bird playing in one ear and Castiel’s gravely dirty talk in the other, Dean falls apart. 

The hand that was covering his own mouth drops to his side limply and balls into a fist. Castiel notes his lover’s quivering thighs and how the veins in his neck surface as he screws his eyes shut. He listens to the sharp, jagged breaths escaping Dean’s parted lips and leans forward to silence them, claiming his mouth hungrily and tasting the whiskey on his tongue as he swipes his own over every inch of his warm cavern. 

He hears Dean as he hums against his lips and feels his hardened length twitch in his hand, followed by the hot rush of his seed spilling between his fingers. 

"That’s it, Sweetheart," Castiel grunts against Dean’s lips, still pumping him with purpose, eager to milk him of every last drop. Dean just inhales sharply through his nose and pants weakly, slumping against his seat as he gazes up at Castiel’s brilliant blue eyes with a mixture of gratitude and desperate adoration. Cas’ expression is one of subtle awe—seeing Dean climax under his hand, watching his face contort in pure bliss as he swallows any moans or cries that threaten to escape, will never get old. 

"This is your Captain speaking. We will be reaching SFO in…oh, approximately twenty minutes. The temperature is about sixty-five degrees with just a couple of scattered clouds…"

Castiel smiles and kisses Dean’s lips once, already reaching for the damp napkin beneath his drink to wipe his hand off. He helps the other man back into his pants and leans back into his own seat with a satisfied smirk still plastered on his face. 

Although Dean’s chest is still heaving lightly, he’s managed to reach a point where he can form coherent thoughts and speak again. “You know you’re perfect, right?” Dean pants, glancing over at the older man with a sated but disbelieving face. His face is relaxed, posture languid, and he seems entirely capable of making it through the landing now—without the use of an oxygen mask.

"Good? Yes. Perfect? Not sure about that. Ask me again on the return flight," Castiel turns to look at him and leans in next to his ear yet again, "after we test if the sink in the lavatory can hold you." 

With that, he snakes his hand between their seats and interlaces his fingers with Dean’s and settles down but not before placing the spare earbud into his own ear.

"Lord, I can’t change.  
Won’t you fly high, free bird, yeah?”


End file.
